a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
by 1848EllisBell
Summary: A series of Halloween-flavored one-shots, all inspired by Poe. Ch1: Demons filler/insert, the start of the search for the laird's lug (The Sphinx). Ch2: Castle and Beckett have a secret, and it's starting to eat away at her (The Tell-Tale Heart). (No need to review, just read and - hopefully - enjoy!) Ch 3: The Raven. Ch 4: Ulalume. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Just a quick A/N: I have some Halloween-flavored stories for you guys. Chapters 1 and 4 will be new stories, and chapters 2 and 3 will be ones I've written in past years, so they'll be familiar to some. Just thought I'd put them all here, since it's Oct and all. My little Poe(did Hasbro miss an epic range of toys for the creepy kids or what?)-inspired collection of one-shots, all unrelated, but perhaps canon-y enough to be considered a series.  
><strong>

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><p><strong><span>Sphingidae<span>  
><strong>

**_Demons_**** filler/insert**

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><p>Beckett led the way back into the McClaren house, her anticipation masked behind bored features, her recently spoken words from that Eighties movie perhaps not as true as she had led him to believe. Orange hues lit the old house, and with Halloween swiftly approaching it all made for a creepier atmosphere than she'd care to admit to. She wasn't <em>scared<em>, but there was a barely subdued tingle of unease caressing the back of her neck with a skeletal hand, and it made it all a little more fun than her face would reveal.

"Alright, Castle," she began once they were inside the musty, damp interior. "Find your hidden room."

He nodded and got to work, examining the decaying walls for anything that might have an unnatural give, anything that might hide the lairds lug beyond the termite-riddled surface. She moved to the opposite side of the room, her eyes still adjusting to the soft lighting, and searched among the shadows that were being cast upon the walls. Her fingers trailed through a cobweb, and she pulled her hand back, shaking it in a bid to free it of the dusty remnants of a long-abandoned home. She muttered a sound of disgust under her breath, her fingers rubbing against her pant leg in a final attempt to brush off the web. If she walked through one she'd be done with the evening, he'd be doing this on his own. Her back to him, she was about to ask Castle if his own search was any more fruitful, and less gross, when a high-pitched shriek had her whirling around to face him. "Are you okay?"

He whimpered, stepped back, and pointed a shaking finger out the window. "I don't know, but I'm suddenly having _Cloverfield_ flashbacks."

"What?" she asked confused. She moved over to where he stood, in the corner of the room barely illuminated by the poor lighting hanging above them, and peered out the damaged window, a swirling mix of anticipation and confusion inside her. "I don't see anything, Castle. It's just an empty street."

His eyes flittered to the wooden ledge beneath the cracked plane of glass. "Oh," he breathed out in embarrassment. "Huh."

She stepped back, and turned to him. "What is it?"

"A moth," he replied, leaning closer to gaze at the tiny creature on the windowsill. "I thought it-" He hesitated, shrugged. "It seemed bigger a moment ago, further away."

"This place is messing with your mind," she reassured him, her voice low. "And night-time has a habit of amplifying.._ things_."

"Things?"

She nodded. Her lips parted, to form a word, but she pressed them closed, changing her mind. "Moths," she said, indicating the insect with a jut of her chin. "Noises. Fears."

"Ah."

"Things seen out of the corner of your eye in the darkness are rarely as they appear."

"Yeah," he admitted, and then glanced up, to signal his search was resuming. She smiled and turned away.

Silence lapsed between them, and they continued to explore the room, searching for evidence to prove - or disprove - his theory. When it stretched, and even the rustling sound of his clothing ceased, she turned back, and found him stock-still, leaning into a wall, listening. "Castle?"

"I hear..." He paused, as though the idea of it was too bizarre, even for him. "Ticking."

"Ticking?" She glanced around, but the only clock, longcase and majestic, stood on the opposite side of the room, with hands frozen on the stroke of midnight, stuck in an eternal moment of time, somewhere in the past. "You sure?" She moved over to him, stopped at his side, and listened. And sure enough, a soft _tick, tick, tick, tick_, could be heard. Too fast to be a clock, and too _alive_. She tapped a fingernail against the wall, and the noise stopped. She elbowed Castle, and smiled. "Deathwatch beetle," she told him.

"That's not creepy at all," he muttered, pulling back away from the wall. "Never heard the noise before, but now I understand why Poe wrote about them. I mean, apart from that whole death omen thing, of course."

"Of course," she repeated.

"All alone," he mused aloud, listening for the sound between his words, "in a quiet house, on a lonely night, that would be unsettling to hear."

"It would."

"Your tone suggests a lack of interest."

"I'd just really like to find this lairds lug, if it exists, go home, finish my wine, crawl into bed, and sleep."

"Just saying,_ creepy._"

"It's a beetle, Castle. The noise it makes has no power over whether someone lives or dies. That moth," she continued, "is just a moth. It's not an omen, not a portent of death, it is not some monster coming for your soul."

"Oh my God," he almost yelped. "You read Poe!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she lied.

"So you weren't going to ask if it was a hawk-moth earlier?"

"Nope," she said, in a curt manner. "It's just a moth, that was just a beetle, and _the principal source of error in all human investigations lay in the liability of the understanding to underrate or to overvalue the importance of an object_." She sucked her lower lip between her teeth after uttering the final word, and grinned.

His mouth hung open, delight filling his eyes. "I love-" He paused, panicked, and swallowed the words back down. "Poe," he said quickly. "I love Poe, and I love that you were able to quote that at me just now."

She blinked away her own panic, and took control over her faltering smile. "I read," she reminded him. Picking up a discarded broom, Beckett gazed up at the ceiling, and released a sigh. "You really think we're going to find a hidden alcove here?" she asked, deflecting the moment - the_ almost_ moment, and those barely contained words she wasn't supposed to remember.

"I do."

"I don't know, Castle. There have been a lot of murder investigations in here over the years and I think they would've found a secret room if there actually was one," she reminded him, tapping at the ceiling with the broomstick, half hoping to find the room to solve the case, half hoping not to just to prove his theory wrong.

"Not if it was hidden well enough."

"You know," she told him, moving to test the wall with the tip of the broomstick, "you're gonna regret it if we actually find this room."

"Why is that?"

"Because then you're gonna have to admit that there is no demon behind all of this. That it's nothing more than a boring old psycho killer hiding in a room." The fireplace offered nothing more than more dusty cobwebs, yet she examined the old stone as she spoke, swallowing down her horror as her fingertips grazed something plump, and hairy, and decidedly spider-like. Forget the bottle of wine she had at home, he was going to owe her something expensive and old, and French, after this.

"Well, unless it's a psycho killer possessed by a demon."

"Why are you so determined to find the supernatural in all of this?"

"Why are you so determined not to?" he asked halting his own search to meet her eyes in the darkened room. "You've already stomped all over the beetle and squashed the moth, how much more must you destroy tonight?"

She threw him a withering glare. She wouldn't mention the spider. "You know what? I am just following the evidence wherever it may lead and, as a cop, I'm going to consider every possible worldly explanation."

"Uh-huh. And what if there is none?"

She ignored his own search of the fireplace, and replied, "Well, then I'm open to the alternatives."

He laughed. "You?" he scoffed. "Skepticus Maximus?"

"You know what?" she began, a little irritated by the name, and really -_ really_ - not tipsy enough for this kind of evening. "Just because I don't talk about it non-stop doesn't mean I don't believe in another plane. I've actually had my own experiences."

"Get out. Like what?"

She considered him for a moment. She'd read enough Stephen King in her time to be able to weave a story of her own, and she remembered a tale, from a Halloween, or two, ago now, that she needed to get him back for (again). And - just maybe - she'd be able to coax another girly scream, or three, out of him before the search was through. The key was not to let him elicit one from her. With a serious, sombre face, she summoned her inner Poe, and, in a hushed tone, she began...


	2. Chapter 2

**Apologies to Edgar Allan Poe and Alfred Noyes. **

**Poems referenced are: ****_The Raven_** **and ****_Annabel Lee_****, by Poe, and ****_The Highwayman_****, by Noyes.**  
><strong>Short story completely mangled is: <strong>**_The Tell-Tale Heart_****, by Poe.**

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><p><strong>To Still the Beating of Her Heart<strong>

**Set: Early S5**

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><p>It started low, just barely audible, and ignored at first. A light double thump in the background, as if from another room, muffled and thought imagined. She would pause throughout the week, stopping mid-thought, interrupted. She would stare at the murderboard, her hand poised to finish a word, her ears straining for confirmation she had heard it.<p>

_Lub-dub_. _Lub-dub_.

One week stretched into another, and still she couldn't shake it. By Wednesday the noise, her constant companion, now clear and defined, could no longer be denied a name.

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><p>Empty cup in hand, standing at the coffee machine in the break-room late Wednesday afternoon, Kate ignored Esposito's inquisitive eyes boring into her while Ryan questioned her on whom she was taking to Castle's Halloween bash later that night. Ryan spoke, and between his thoughts, as he paused to take a breath, she tried to ignore the low, but persistent, double thump.<p>

Was it _her_ heart?

She clutched a hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat beneath. Steady and strong - and deafening.

It _was_.

She dared meet Ryan's eyes as she stirred her coffee, searching them for a hint he was aware of it too. Could he see her body reacting to his questions? His incessant, unrelenting, questions.  
>Esposito leaned in closer, curious. Was he listening to her words, or to her heart betraying her?<br>She wasn't losing her mind, love had simply heightened her senses, and was turning her into an utter fool.

God, she needed air.

With coffee in hand, she brushed past both detectives, ignoring their taunts as she exited the break-room. Her eyes met Castle's as she moved to where he sat beside her desk. The drumming resonated both in her chest and in her mind, and she knew they couldn't go on like this.

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><p>Wednesday evening, not even close to midnight, and Kate was just ready for this all to be over.<br>The party. The night. The secrets.  
>Also, she needed to pee.<p>

"So, Beckett," Ryan began, cornering Kate at the snack-table in Castle's living room. "No date?"

Popping a handful of peanuts into her mouth to show her lack of interest in replying, Kate narrowed her eyes and walked off.  
>Under the pretense of needing a refill, she wandered into the kitchen where Castle was shaking cocktails, and planted her empty glass down on the counter. In a tone just loud enough for him to hear she said, "This sucks."<p>

He looked utterly heartbroken for a moment, his hand frozen in midair, cocktail shaker gripped tight.

"I mean, us, the secrecy. Not the party." She smiled as if to say the party was brilliant. And it was, she supposed, since the the music was loud enough to cover the sound of her heart pounding heavily against her ribs.

Richard Castle's annual Halloween bash - and she had come alone. They may have talked about dating other people, but after the little incident involving Castle, a bikini-clad reporter, and the couch, the rules had been laid out and neither had any interest in breaking them. So she would spend the party at his side, just enough to appear normal, not enough to arouse suspicion. Together, alone. And only once everyone had left for the night would she be able to crawl into bed with him, curl her body against his, press her lips to his, and be his.

"Agreed," he replied solemnly. He brought the cocktail shaker down onto the counter, and asked, "Sex on the Beach?"

"Yes, please," she replied, distracted, missing his raised eyebrows as to what exactly she was agreeing to. She was gazing out into the sea of people, all drinking and laughing, most in costume - and almost all paired up. She smiled at Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff (Alexis and her date), at Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy (Jenny and Ryan, although he didn't deserve it after the snack-table incident), watched as Dorothy wandered past the kitchen, and bit back a surprised yelp as Pennywise entered the loft.  
>All her friends, people she considered family, in the same room. She was more than ready to share this secret with them, wanted to announce to them all who her mysterious boyfriend was, and how insanely happy he was making her. She wanted to, but she couldn't. They couldn't. And it was eating her up inside.<p>

"Oh, Kate, Darling. You look beautiful."

Beckett turned to Martha's wide smile and shining eyes. "Thank you, Martha."

"But who are you dressed as, my dear?"

Clad in a long, white, flowing Grecian dress, gold sandals on her feet, hair curled and pinned up, and Castle's raven - from a Halloween past - on her shoulder, she had hoped it wouldn't need explanation. "Oh, just a Poe reference," she replied kindly. It had been a joke, a nod to her partner's middle name, and the fact she'd had the damn bird in her apartment, perched on a windowsill in her kitchen, watching her every move for the past few years. While Castle had approved of her decision, he had gone for a slightly scarier look. _He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin. A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin; They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh_. And, oh God, she was reciting Noyes in her head. But that was Castle tonight, dressed as the Highwayman from the poem. The fake blood staining his outfit, and the expertly applied bullet wound at his temple that Lanie had helped him fashion, turned him from the Highwayman of the first several stanzas, to the one at the end. Only Castle would announce as proudly as he had earlier that he was a _Highwayzombie_. To be precise.

Martha accepted a drink from her son, and moved back into the crowd, tipsy but happy.

Kate flashed Castle a smile, and accepted the drink he slid along the counter top to her. She mixed the colors in the glass with the straw, spun the little umbrella, and sighed softly. She was nervous, scared of the truth slipping out after too many drinks, and she couldn't hide it.

"Girl, no date tonight?" Lanie stepped up to her, her balance just a little off, her words slightly slurred.

_Lub-dub. Lub-dub._

The sound filled her head again, surrounded her. The air around her thickened, each breath more difficult as she tried to fill her lungs. Lanie was her _best friend_. The one person she had gone to with Castle-related problems over the past four years, and that she couldn't tell her now that the relationship was happening just broke her.  
>"He's busy," Kate replied in an even tone.<p>

"And, as I failed to find someone, Beckett and I opted to be one another's plus ones," Castle interjected. Innocent, really. Just friends. Like at Ryan's wedding.

Eyes locked on Esposito's ass as he moved across the room to where Jenny and Ryan stood, Lanie replied, "You two ought to be careful or people might start talking."

Kate didn't miss her friend's attention shifting, refocusing. "Don't they already?" Kate asked. With a slight nudge to get Lanie's full attention, she added, "You might want to take your own advice."

Lanie turned to her, shrugging to show her lack of concern. "At least there would be truth to the rumor."

It was on the tip of her tongue. The back of her hand brushed Castle's behind the shield of the kitchen counter, and perhaps the reveal didn't need to be spoken. Perhaps it could be subtle, like her leaning closer to Castle, him curling his hand at her waist, and the two of them simply smiling at Lanie until she clicked.  
>But the moment flitted off, became lost. Lanie, drawn like a magnet to Esposito, wandered off, slightly tipsy, in his direction, leaving Kate and Castle to their cocktails.<p>

_Lub-dub. Lub-dub._

Her heart taunted her.

"I wish it were different too," Castle said gently, having watched her silently struggle - tonight, last week, the past few months - with this secret.

Kate exhaled a slow breath, before taking a long sip from the cocktail in her hands. She swallowed the cool liquid, and the hints of Midori and pineapple juice made her smile. He had made it to her preference. As always.  
>"Telling them might change nothing, or it could result in - Well, you know what." She was done talking about how it might split them up.<p>

With a smile toward his mother and daughter, he whispered into Kate's ear, "Neither the angels in heaven above..." Nodding over to where Ryan, Esposito, and Lanie stood, now watching them like hawks, Castle said, "Nor the demons down under the sea..." His eyes fixed on Beckett alone, he finished, "Can ever dissever my soul from the soul, of the beautiful Katherine B."

She had to roll her eyes at that, no matter how sweet and reassuring he was trying to be. "You're a sap, you know that?"

He shrugged. "Hey I'm just happy that's what you took from that, because that poem is all kinds of creepy."

"Well, Castle, despite the fact it is indeed Halloween, I'm willing to ignore the necrophilia subtext."

"Yeah, perhaps that wasn't the best poem to recite."

"Ya think?"

"But between your outfit and mine, it was either going to be that or something about plaiting a dark red love-knot into your long bla- brown hair."

"You need to stop it now," she warned in a low tone. "Before Ryan and Espo work their way over here. They've been less than subtle for the past few minutes."

"Hey, I'm just mixing cocktails and reciting poetry. You know, the usual Halloween stuff."

Placing her cocktail down, Kate shook her head at him. "Mmhmmm," she replied. With a sigh, she accepted the seal had to be broken. "Bathroom break, Castle."

"Is that an invitation? Because _that's _even weirder than the poem."

She groaned. "Just guard my drink, would ya." She turned, and left him to mix his drinks alone.

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><p>Moving through Castle's bedroom to the en-suite, Kate never noticed the boys slipping through the study, never saw the ambush coming.<p>

"So, me and Ryan were just having an interesting discussion."

Kate's shoulders slumped. She had _almost _made it to the safety of the bathroom. She turned to Espo and Ryan, trying to keep from glancing around the bedroom in fear of an item of hers forgotten and in view, and folded her arms across her chest. "Bad timing, boys."

They ignored her. "Witnessed something interesting too," Ryan told her. "We have a question, about you and Castle."

_Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. _

_They heard!_

The more he questioned her, the guiltier she felt, and the louder the drumming sounded in her ears. In her head? She was guilty. Guilty of keeping her and Castle's relationship from their friends, guilty of constantly lying to them. But she wasn't going crazy. The sound wasn't in her head. How could Ryan and Espo not hear it?

_They suspected!_

They didn't flinch, didn't react at all, as the rhythm of her heart steadily beat along, increasing in volume. They closed in around her, pointing out little things here and there that they had noticed recently, how they'd been putting things together like good little detectives.

But she barely heard them, their voices almost drowned out by her heart beating erratically in her chest.

_They knew!_

When she couldn't take it any longer, when the guilt became too much, she flung her hands up to hush them. "Enough!" She said hoarsely, unable to keep it inside. "Castle and I are together, okay? He's my _boyfriend_." She put emphasis on the last word, glaring at Ryan as she did so.

"Yeah," Ryan replied, unable to suppress the smug smile. "We know. We figured it out."

Pride lit up their faces; whether it was from the fact they had solved the mystery, or because they approved of the pairing, she didn't care. Pointing a warning finger between the both of them she said slowly, clearly, and calmly, "If this gets out, Castle and I will be split up."

"It won't get out," Esposito replied. He flashed her a brief smile, before his eyes narrowed. "But you could've trusted us ya know, Beckett."

"Plausible deniability, Javi. We couldn't..." She sighed. "I'm serious, guys. No one else can know."

"They won't," he promised her. "Your secret's safe."

Her eyes narrowed for a moment, before she nodded. She had to trust them. Then she waited, and when the sly smirks didn't come, she asked, "What, no taunts?" They both should have been tearing her apart already.

Ryan shrugged. "You've been .. different recently, Beckett. Castle's clearly good for you."

"But if he hurts you, I will kill him," Esposito warned, unnecessarily, but simply because it was expected from him.

"He knows this," she told them. "Now, if you'll excuse me." She stepped backwards into the bathroom, firing them a last warning look before closing the door, and slumping back against it.

And, after a moment, she heard it - _silence_.

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><p>In the living room, two detectives zoned in on their unsuspecting target, shaking cocktails in the kitchen. They had to appear at least <em>a little <em>menacing - before the high-fives, bird feedings, and back slaps were delivered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Surcease of Sorrow**

**Set: Early S6, during the DC arc.**

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><p>Castle blinked in the dark bedroom, his vision clearing, his brain dusting off the cobwebs of sleep. He pushed the sheets off his body as he sat up, and then he paused. Seated, on the edge of the mattress, he listened...<p>

But silence greeted him.

He could have sworn a knock at the door had roused him. He'd been dreaming, of Kate. Every night, it seemed, his fiancée floated through his dreams, keeping him warm until he awoke, alone. The knock had been so loud, so clear, he could have sworn it had been real.

He held a breath, but mere silence greeted him still.

A chill ran through him, the cool air registering against his bare legs, his exposed arms. He tugged the sheet up to cover his body, and laid down on his back, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling, ears straining for a repeat of what he swore he had heard.  
><em>Exploding Head Syndrome. <em>He'd heard of that. Maybe that was all it was, an auditory hallucination. _It must be_, he decided, when no further sounds followed.

He closed his eyes again, settling back against the mattress, sinking into the pillow. He turned on his side, faced away from the empty space beside him, and willed sleep to come.

He missed her. His Halloween party was tomorrow night, and she was stuck in D.C. The phone calls, the irregular visits, the Skype calls… they weren't enough anymore. This arrangement wasn't enough.  
>He closed his eyes, and pushed it all aside, forced it down. It would hurt less in the morning, when he could call her, when he could at least hear her voice. That was when the ache would lessen.<br>But he couldn't sleep. He was awake now, dragged from sleep by some imagined noise, to be reminded of how much he missed her.

No, he wouldn't sleep now.

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><p>Hauling himself out of bed, Castle slipped his robe on, tying the sash as he padded into his study. He powered up his laptop, and flittered around the loft while it booted. Chilled, he started up the gas fireplace, letting the orange glow flicker into his study, allowing the warmth to diffuse in. He could write until morning came. He could lose himself in Nikki's world, in a world where two partners worked side-by-side, and pretend his own life was like that - still, always. <em>For evermore.<em>

The laptop buzzed, the fan whirred, too loud in the silent room, but through the noise he swore he heard it.

A whoosh from the living room.

A door opening.

And he swore he felt it, the breeze, as the cool air from the hall was pushed into the loft, ghosting through to his office.

Grabbing a golf club… a golf club? He sighed as he looked up at the item held tight in his hand, raised high above his head. Yeah, that wasn't going to work. He shrugged then, giving in. No time. He'd have to make it work. He edged behind the bookcases, and then eased quietly into the living room, golf club raised, poised to smack the living daylights out of the intruder…

But the room was empty.

The fireplace flickered, and through the glow he saw that the door remained closed, and, upon closer inspection, still locked. The alarm, still armed. The room, secure. He hit the lights, did a quick sweep, but the sound had been imagined, the phantom feel of cool air rushing in had been just that.

"Huh," he muttered, relaxing his arm and lowering the club. "This room is clear," he announced to the empty room, brandishing the golf club like a crucifix. Yeah, he was losing his mind.

But he left the lights on, just in case.

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><p>Castle dropped the club back in its place, and slumped down in the chair behind his desk, his laptop now running, ready for his commands.<br>Fingers hovering above the keyboard, he hadn't a chance to type out a single letter when he heard it - again. Knuckles on wood. Yes, he had heard it. That was real. He pushed his chair back, clutched the golf club once more in his fist, and strode to the door. He glanced through the peephole, but saw no one. Cautiously, he opened the door, ready to strike, ready to chastise this late visitor, with the golf club if necessary. Each inch he opened the door revealed... nothing. He stood, in the doorway, staring down the dark hallway, alone.

"What?" he questioned the empty hall, bewildered. "I was sure I heard…" Castle blinked, shook his head in confusion, and turned to retreat - when his foot bumped against something. He glanced down.  
>"The hell?"<p>

There, on the floor outside his door, was the stuffed raven he had used as a prop so many years ago now. The first year Kate had attended his Halloween party. The memory pulled at his heart, and he bent down and clutched the raven in his free hand. He stood, brought it closer to his face, and narrowed his eyes. _How?_

Kate had left with it that night, he had given it to her as a 'why the hell not' kind of gift, after his 'giving her the bird' had resulted in her carrying it around in her arms all night. The last he had seen of the bird was inside her office window, sitting peacefully, watching over her while she worked.

She couldn't have left it, could she? At - he glanced at his watch - midnight? Confused, Castle glanced back down the dark, silent corridor.

"Beckett?" he called, feeling a little foolish. "Kate?"

His voice filled the emptiness, for a moment, and an echo repeated back at him, a whispered, _Kate_. And then nothing. Just the same, still, empty corridor.

Deflated, he turned, and stepped back into the loft. He was dreaming. Surely, he was dreaming. He would wake up soon, in his bed, alone. The bird would dissipate as the morning sun filled the room, and the sounds would become nothing more than the wind outside his window - and he would never speak of this.  
>But dreams weren't this vivid, this linear. Dreams didn't feel like feathers in his palm. He placed the bird on the head of the Buddha that sat beside the door, the small statue Kate had gifted to him - for safe keeping - before she had left. One of the many things that hadn't accompanied her during the move to D.C. He moved to close the door, when a boot-clad foot wedged itself in the way, and a grinning face met his.<p>

"Hi."

Shock blurred into happiness, and he grinned back. "Kate? What-?"

She smiled as she stepped into the loft, and into his arms. "Couldn't miss your Halloween party, Castle," she murmured into his ear.

He took a step back, his arms still around her, and met her shining eyes. "How long were you lurking out there?"

She bit her lower lip, her mischievous smile lighting up her entire face. "Long enough to freak you out, I hope." At his nod, she added, "Happy Halloween, Castle," before her lips met his, and she nudged the door closed with her foot. They stumbled forward together, arms around one another, mouths fused, moving through the brightly-lit room, to the bedroom with its softer tones, lit by one gently burning lamp - that had kept her side of the bed warm for her return.

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><p><strong>And that was my butchered retelling of half of The Raven ;) <strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: Spoilers for all screened S7 episodes. **

**Set: Oct 31st 2014  
><strong>

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><p><strong>THE GHOUL-HAUNTED WOODLAND OF WEIR<strong>

* * *

><p>The cold is the first thing he notices, how it burns through the light autumn layers, all the way to his bones. The unseasonable snow dusts the rocky path he walks, sprinkled like confectioner's sugar over decomposing leaves, freezing the almost-skeletal remains, causing them to crunch beneath the soles of his shoes. He takes cautious steps, unsure where he's going, where he came from, why he's here, a sense of someone waiting for him up ahead, a voice in his mind saying, <em>don't<em> _turn back_. He wishes his steps were quieter, but the snow, and the ice, amplifies the world.

And it shouldn't be this cold.

Not yet.

It's late October, All Hallows' Eve, and the weather just feels wrong.

_Climate change?_ he ponders, following the path between tall cypress trees, drawn ever deeper into the woods.

One foot in front of the other, he continues, flashes of his surroundings in his peripheral stirring questions within him. A campfire smolders, the acrid smoke burns his nostrils, and he turns, and frowns. Holes remain in the frozen ground, the earth cracked and broken from tent pegs pulled out in haste. A voice in his head says, _no, not tent pegs, it was too cold, there should be cabins here, wherever here is_. But then the images scatter, and just the dense forest remains. He pushes forward, and the morsels of joy, teasingly short glimpses of what was supposed to be an innocent time, are devoured in his wake, consumed by darkness, by some deep sadness he can't explain.  
>It's lonely out here, so far from civilisation, cut-off from news of abductions, of young boys, and predators, the tragedies whispered about once front doors are locked and curtains are pulled, the real monsters, spoken about in hushed tones at nighttime.<p>

It's lonely out here, but he isn't alone. The narrow path widens enough to allow his companion to move up to his side, and she falls into step, quick to match his stride.

"The lake is beautiful," she murmurs, her voice low like she's aware there's already too much noise created by their footfalls. "What did you say its name is?"

"Auber," he replies, his gaze following hers out over the calm surface, the silvery reflection of the moon creating a sparkle of light in the darkness. "Lake Auber."

Night is lifting, dawn approaches, and the sky is ashen, growing lighter with each blink of his eyes. It's no longer late, it's early. He isn't consciously aware of how long they've been walking - just that they are - or how they found this place - just that they have - or why he feels so strange.  
>He pauses, beside the lake, and he thinks there should be a serenity about this vista, this path, the hints of dawn in the night sky, but a persistent uneasiness tugs at him. It tugs harder, and the agitation is soon laced with remembrance. The lake, the path, the cypress trees, it's all so familiar - somehow. His mind keeps saying, <em>it should be February, in some immemorial year. <em>But he knows it's October. He's so sure it is.

_You know why you brought me out here, _he hears. He turns to her, but Beckett is transfixed by the shimmering waters of the lake, almost unaware of him.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asks.

She turns to him, blinks in confusion. "I didn't say anything."

_I don't know_, he responds in his head.

He lifts his eyes, and then gives her a gentle nudge with his elbow. "Look up."

She follows his gaze, and inhales sharply.

The crescent-shaped Venus shines bright in the sky, bathing them in her warmth as she travels through Leo, quiet in the solace of space, where no one remembers past horrors. He likes the Lethean idea of it all, of forgetting, of letting go.

Kate shifts her weight, the movement demanding his attention. She's perturbed now, watching the constellations with fear in her eyes. "We should keep going," she says in a broken tone.

A chill descends around him; to combat it, and her concerns, he reaches for her, draws her warm body to his, and calms her with a kiss.

She smiles as they break apart, and takes his hand in hers. "Still, let's not linger."

It's hazy up ahead, with low cloud, perhaps fog, shrouding the trees, hiding the woods from them. And again he wants to stop, turn back, run away. But her voice, in his mind, pushes him forward, says, _it's okay._  
>He silently disagrees, but doesn't turn back.<p>

The fog lifts, disappears like cobwebs as they walk through it, disturbing the last barrier between them and the truth - and what was hidden is revealed.  
>The rock with its tombstone-like shape - <em>Grave Stone<em>, his Psyche reminds him. The skeletal-like trees with their bony branches curved down, ready to snag people as they walk by. He knows where they are now, he's been here before. He follows the path as it passes between the rock and the trees, into the clearing beyond - where he saw it. So long ago now. The body. The boy. The blood.

"It's February," he murmurs, pausing in his tracks, afraid he'll see it all again. "Not October."

"It's February seventh," she agrees, her voice distant. "1981."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't. But you do."

"Why did you bring me here?"

She's ghost-like now, almost transparent, his hand slips through hers, and his fingers close around the cold dawn air.

"The secret is a burden on one person alone. Let me help you carry it."

She isn't Beckett anymore, she's just a wispy outline, and fading fade, yet still he responds, "I can't."

"What did you see?" the disembodied voice asks.

"I don't-"

"It's time, Castle. Let me in." The icy wind catches the words, and carries them away.

His eyes fall to the sodden dirt, where the grass never grew again, where once he had seen the body, resting on the light dusting of claret snow. He'd heard the dogs barking, the men as they'd approached, and he'd run. He'd turned, and pushed through the woods, scraping his eleven-year-old arms on branches, tripping on rocks and scraping his knees, but he'd kept going, back to the start of the path, back to the campsite, and he'd lied. To everyone. About where he'd been, what he'd seen. The news reached them; the cabins had been abandoned, the fires extinguished, and still he'd stayed quiet. He'd let the images permanently sear into his mind, and change him. He wants to tell her now, but she's gone.

The trees, the cold night, it all vanishes, and he's in his bed, in his home, far from Hollander's Woods, to Kate gently combing her hands through his hair, easing him back to wakefulness.

"You okay?" she asks, her voice low.

He sucks in a breath, calms himself, his heart still pounding in his chest. "Yeah," he lies.

"You sure?"

"Just a dream."

Her fingers soothe through his hair, the tips of her fingers dance lightly on his skin, but her eyes are sad as she meets his. "Jamie Weir?"

He blinks away the images, focuses on her instead, this amazing woman who loves him. "I said that?"

"You talk in your sleep, remember."

In the dim light of dawn he sees the half-smile tugging at her lips, the one that suggests she knows almost all of his secrets from the nights spent in his bed.

She doesn't, not quite. He watches her for a moment, and then beckons for her to curl into his side. He knows it won't haunt her like it has him, and he won't paint too vivid of a picture with his words, but his Psyche is right. It's time to be honest about that night. They'll be married soon. It's time to let her in.

* * *

><p><strong>Inspired by: Ulalume (google the poem if you don't know it, it's worth your time I promise), by Poe.<strong>

**You know the drill: no need to review. But, if you want to, if you have a minute, if you wouldn't mind, could you go here: 1848ellisbelldottumblrdotcom / post/ 101396485917 / if-you-have-a-minute-please-read (or just click on my profile and then click on the link to the tumblr post), and block/report the troll and help silence them? And if you're ever in a similar situation, PM me and let me help you.**


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